


Winter Nights

by CrowLikesShinyThings



Series: Your Hunger Will Consume You [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dovahzul, Memory Loss, Multi, Reincarnation, Skyrim Civil War, Werewolves, headcanons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:34:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5294963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowLikesShinyThings/pseuds/CrowLikesShinyThings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*ILLUSTRATED*</p><p>"She was like the dawn - all blonde hair, bright eyes and white magic. Mana is unsure why the woman smiles at the Khajiit so pleasantly, when she herself feels like such a monster.</p><p>Though maybe they have that in common. Both of them have beasts lurking in the backs of their minds. The difference being that Mana soothes hers with violence so that she doesn't burn down Nord villages in her rage, grieving the primordial world she barely remembers and the brother she struck down, while Alaya suppresses her own out of fear and contempt, hating the dark blood in her veins and her inability to turn away from those who hold out their hands to her.</p><p>Maybe that's why Mana hates her and loves her at the same time: because she hates and loves herself."</p><p>[Side-story to my Skyrim narrative. Note: may not strictly adhere to canon.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act I: Uneasy Premonitions

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written through a roleplay, so technically I only half-wrote it. I've edited it to make better sense chronologically and narratively, because there are definitely things you miss when you shoot text back and forth at each other at three in the fucking morning. Our sleeping habits are horrendous, and she's two time zones ahead of me.
> 
> To my unicorn: you're my best friend and the light of my life. I love you with all my heart. Our relationship is not like Mana and Alaya's, but I always find it interesting to butt heads through our characters, because they highlight our differences without demolishing our similarities. Seriously, the amount of legit frustration I experienced second-hand through Mana is actually pretty funny. The way we write protagonists really exposes so much about ourselves that it's uncanny. I know you understand that.
> 
> On tumblr -- http://diowarwahl.tumblr.com/post/134046445232/winter-nights-act-i-uneasy-premonitions  
> On ff.net -- https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11636708/1/Winter-Nights

The Khajiit tried not to yawn too loudly as she made her way down from Dragonsreach. Her whole body was aching and tired, having hiked through Skyrim's mountainous landscape on foot, in heavy armor, after running from a dragon only the morning before.

Mana, knowing that she had fuck all in the way of gold, hoped they wouldn't kick her out of the park. Her travels had made it painfully aware of the racism towards her kind, and Skyrim was no diamond in the rough. It was likely the only reason she was allowed in the city in the first place was because she'd had news on Helgen.

 _And that dragon..._ she thought with a shudder, pushing it from her mind. She could dwell on it later. As she entered the small enclosed park, dominated by a dying tree, she began to wonder is maybe coming to the north had been such a good idea in the first place.

Across the park, a Breton woman sighed and lifted her head solemnly, the first sight an exhausted Khajiit garbed in heavy armor, carrying a leather traveling pack. She jumped to her feet and approached. "Oh, allow me to help you! You seem very tired; maybe we can get you a good drink and a room at the inn?” she said good-naturedly.

Mana turned her gaze on the Breton, observing her choice in weapons and armor, and tried to give a smile that didn't look like a snarl, "Khajiit appreciates your kindness, but she has no gold to pay."

"Ah, that matters not. Please, it shall be my pleasure," a warm smile crossed the Breton’s face, "It is always a happy thing to aid a weary traveler."

Mana gave a low chuckle and relaxed her shoulders, "This one is a kind soul."

"So I've been told," Alaya pulled the pack from her new friend's shoulders, "They call me Alaya Dawnbreaker. I came from High Rock to become a Companion."

The pack shouldn't have been all that heavy, only carrying basic supplies that she'd gotten from Alvor the day before. "Companion...?" Mana questioned, ears pricking in curiosity.

A proud smile crossed the Breton’s face, "There is a group of men and women who serve as the defenders of Skyrim's people. We have no such thing in High Rock, and I thought they might require a healer of some sort."

"Are they anything like the Fighter's Guild?" the Khajiit tilted her head to the side in question.

"I haven't the slightest of an idea. I know they are respected across Tamriel," Alaya opened the door to the inn, and allowed the Khajiit to enter first.

Mana dipped her head as she passed, taking in the smells of sweat, pine, cooking meat and booze. If there was one thing to be counted on, it was that inns were generally the same no matter where you went. In the light of the fire, she looked dirty and ruffled, her fur matted with dust in some places, and what looked like blood in others. It was also evident that she had tried to wash most of it off, but hadn't entirely succeeded. The iron armor was worn and dented in some places, not quite fitting right on her tall body.

"What would you like, Khajiit?" Alaya asked politely.

"Mana only needs somewhere to sleep."

"Well, Mana, you seem to need a bath, and a new set of armor, and possibly a healer, though I am unsure whether that blood is yours or not," there was a motherly nip to Alaya’s tone as she folded her arms over her chest.

The Khajiit looked down at herself, lip twitching in amusement, "I am unsure as well. Mana has had a ... trying week."

"I have an extra set of clothing in my bag that you could wear until we get you a new set of armor or repair your current set. I may be able to ask for the innkeeper to draw you a bath, if you would like."

Mana briefly fought over being polite and declining the offer, versus accepting the kindness for what it is (she could repay the favor later, anyhow). It was incredibly rare to meet people like this, who went out of their way to be good to strangers and expecting nothing in return. "Thank you, you are too generous," she nodded, trying not to purr.

The Breton stepped up to the counter and requested two rooms and a hot bath, then rummaged around through her own packs for the twenty septim she needed to pay. To her disappointment, she would only be left but a handful of gold for other necessities if she paid for the new armor after this. Alaya reassured herself by reminding herself that she would soon be making the gold she needed.

Mana noted the look on the woman’s face, "Do these Companions take jobs like the Fighters Guild?"

"They do," she said softer than intended.

"Mana could take jobs with you, so they are done quicker? There is more money to be found that way, yes?" Mana offered, "Also, Khajiit is planning to search Bleak Falls Barrow. There could be treasure."

Alaya looked torn, "I would be happy to join you, though I will not raid a barrow and disrupt the dead unless there are some in a state of undeath.”

"Khajiit only needs to find a tablet," Mana nodded, knowing that both humans and elves were rather touchy when it came to their dead.

"What sort of tablet?"

"Mana is unsure, only that they call it the 'Dragonstone'."

"Sounds mysterious."

The innkeeper called that the bath was ready, and Alaya rifled through her bags again in search of the extra clothes, "Here, take these. You can keep them – they’re old, and too big for me."

Mana nodded, taking them into her hands and heading after the innkeeper. Before she entered, she looked over her shoulder at the other woman, "Would you like to join Mana?"

Alaya hesitated, "I'll organize our bedrooms. Thank you for the offer, though."

Mana nodded, not offended. It was normal for Khajiit to bathe together, but she knew that others weren't quite as relaxed about it.

Alaya set the two packs in the rooms and unstrapped her armor piece by piece. She laid it all out on her bed, sighed, and settled down to relax.

 

* * *

 

Mana sunk down into the water with a noise of contentment. She rolled her shoulders and stretched out her spine, feeling the dirt and grime beginning to loosen. Snorting, she combed her fingers through her fur, grooming properly. It helped her mind settle, still reeling from her near-experience with death.

She could have sworn that the dragon's eyes were looking right at her ... they had seemed almost ... _familiar._

Mouth dry, Mana finished cleaning herself off and dressed quickly.

As Mana emerged from the bathroom, Alaya made a brief noise of surprise, "Are you alright? You look ill.”

"It has been a while since Mana has had the chance to groom properly," the Khajiit shrugged, "but she will be fine."

Alaya took Mana's stack of armor and her own cleaning rag and began polishing it up. "What sort of battle have you faced since entering Skyrim, Mana? There are many stains on your armor."

"Khajiit only borrowed it," she explained, "but it is true that Mana’s coming to Skyrim was less than welcome. I was taken prisoner for hunting near the border when the rebels were nearby, and they would have killed Mana if not for the dragon,” Her voice became amused as she talked.

Alaya looked alarmed, "Dragons? I thought they were only a legend told by Nords around the campfire to entertain their children."

Mana’s expression grew grim, "No, they are very much real. And they are coming home."

An equally grim chuckle escaped the Breton’s lips, "Now may not have been the best time for us to come to Skyrim."

“I suppose we shall see.”

 

* * *

 

 

By the time they dispatched the guardian of the crypt, Mana had had _enough_ of dead-walkers, the filthy things. Her head was pounding and ears ringing, and what was with the _voices?_

Alaya cast a blessing to purge the area of the remainder of malcontent energies. When she looked up, she saw a look in Mana's eyes that seemed reminiscent of a migraine. "Are you alright, Mana?" she asked, considering another Restoration spell to possibly cast, "Did that shout jostle your head a little too much?"

"I ... do not..." Mana began, but the chanting in her head only grew louder. She pressed the pads of her fingers to her brow and stepped towards the wall of the cave. It seemed to draw her in, beckoning her. Something deep inside was thrumming, _urging_ to be acknowledged.

Alaya stepped up to her. "Here. Easy now,” she helped her friend down to the floor, and removed her helm. A look of concern filled her eyes; she couldn't help if she didn't know what was going on.

Mana's whole body went rigid; the pupils of her eyes shrunk into pinpoints, fixated on the wall before her that words older than man were carved. Ringing in her head, a single word repeated, the markings in her mind's eye, and under her breath she whispered it: _"Fus.”_

Alaya momentarily was rendered speechless, "I... Excuse me?"

Breaking out of the trance, Mana panted heavily, running her fingers through her mane. "What in the name of the moons was _that?_ " she hissed.

"I don't have any idea, friend," she said, helping her to her feet, "You muttered a strange word...”

"It was Fus, but Mana ... doesn’t quite know what it means. I heard it from the wall," she turned her gaze on Alaya, eyes wide.

Alaya slowly nodded, "It was probably nothing, friend. Try to relax, and we can return to Whiterun without much trouble. No harm, no fowl, you know?"

Mana nodded in agreement, but she still looked like it was still on her mind.

 

* * *

 

 

There was fire in the distance, almost too bright to Mana's eyes.

Beside her, Alaya wrung her hands, a furrow deep-set into her brow, "We ought to hurry. There are people there that may need our help."

Mana loosed her bow from its place on her back, scanning the ground surrounding the crumbling watchtower. There were bodies strewn everywhere, the smell of burning flesh overpowering, but there didn't seem to be any attackers.

Alaya knelt to help the wounded, some of whom were crying out in agony. One near to the tower gripped her feebly on the arms, and croaked, "Dragons, lass... dragons!"

Not long after, unminding of how strong her spell or potion she used, he lay dead, and she came trotting back to Mana, face set in determination, "There's dragons about – seems you were right after all.”

As she spoke, a loud crowing roar echoed over the plains of Whiterun, a sound she had never heard before in her life, but unmistakably, it was a dragon.

The Khajiit stared up at the night sky as a huge winged beast swooped down over the tower, fire licking at its gums and a gleeful shine in its eyes. Mana was oddly disappointed that it was not the same black dragon as before. This one was an excited hatchling in comparison. She knocked an arrow in response to its excited roaring.

"I have your back, friend," Alaya told her, with little else she could do until the dragon landed.

"Let us hope that we do not end up as food, yes?" Mana snarled, half-joking, and took aim. The dragon let loose a burst of flame at the guards that had managed to survive. It shook its head and swung its gaze over to the two of them, the arrow loosely embedded between its scales, not deep enough to do it serious harm.

Instinctively, Alaya stepped up in front of her friend with enough space for her to still fire arrows, shield at the ready as she pulled out the Dwarven mace she had taken off the body of a bandit.

The dragon prepared to wipe them off the map, and as it opened its maw Mana shot an arrow down its throat. It roared again, taking to the sky.

"Thankful that you did that ... we both would have been burnt to a cinder," Alaya glanced over her shoulder at her friend, "Shoot for the wings. The scales look thin enough that you may tear a hole."

Mana nodded. It was difficult to aim properly when the dragon was performing high speed aerial maneuvers, but when it hovered in place, she was able to get the shot in.

When the dragon was starting to get angry, there was shouting from the east, and a group of Whiterun guards, led by who Mana recognized as the Jarl's Housecarl, joined the already chaotic battle.

A volley of arrows came from the Whiterun guard, and whistled right by the frustrated lizard, who dipped its head to better use the full strength behind its wings. A plume of flame towered into the air as it roared once more, making another pivot around the guard tower on one wing before landing on its top, holding on with clawed feet as it lit a streak of tundra grasses ablaze not far from Mana and Alaya.

Mana rushed inside, switching her bow out for sword. The dragon shifted around on top of the tower as she ran up the staircase. As she approached it the roaring became more distinct, words forming in a mixture of the common tongue and one that was less common, but just as familiar.

As she reached the top of the tower, the dragon shoved its weight off, into the sky. The guardsmen sent another volley of arrows at it, and with a spatter hot blood rained down on Mana, an arrow embedded up to the fletching sent the dragon into a blind rage. It turned on Mana, eyes closed, cursing her in the dragon language.

Mana raised her shield, baring her fangs, and lashed out. The dragon managed to clamp down heavily on her arm, even though her blade sliced through the flesh of its face. Mana’s armour absorbed most of the blow, even as she let out a yowl of pain. It shoved her dangerously close to the edge of the tower.

Alaya burst onto the roof at the dragon’s tail, letting out as fierce a battle cry as a small Breton woman could. She smashed her mace into its flesh, and the dragon swung its head around, aiming a bite at her.

As Alaya bounced the dragon’s teeth off of her with a hearty bash of her shield, Mana rammed her sword in the fleshy part of its neck, showering the already blood-splattered roof in even more gore. With a triumphant grin, the Breton woman smashed the dragon on the head with her mace, driving the sword deeper into its neck.

The oversized lizard wheezed now, unable to roar or draw enough breath for more than a small puff of smoke. With a great heave, Mana’s blade sliced through its spine, the dragon's dying breath knocking the both of them to the ground.

There was a blinding light, obscuring everything they could see. Mana’s breath caught as she staggered, the light flowing into her, twisting and tumbling like water flowing down rapids with a presence just as loud. A rush of power flooded through her, and a thousand different thoughts all at once, none of her own. She saw the dawn of the world, more dragons than one would know what to do with, fire tearing through the sky as their screaming brethren fell one by one.

Among the hurricane of sensation she felt the word from the word wall rise up, focusing her thoughts and separating her mind from that of the Dov. She waited the storm out, holding the word to her heart as the other consciousness faded, leaving her filled with power, the same instinctive feeling from the Barrow now a constant presence.

In near an instant, it was all gone, and she swirled with light for a moment before it disappeared. Coming back to herself, Mana let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Her throat felt raw and the air on her tongue heavier than before, charged and volatile.

"Mana ... are you okay?" Alaya coughed, straightening up to reach her friend, "What happened there?" She glanced to the dragon, and it was no more than a long, skeletal husk on the rooftop, still slightly breathing with wind, swirling magical residue, and the dust of a magical being no more. At the back of her mind, she could recognize the flash of light and magic as a soul. A very large, presence-filled soul, and it didn't enter a soul gem, no, it entered Mana as if she were a soul gem.

"I saw..." the Khajiit began, "...Mana has no idea what she saw."

“Even so, are you alright?”

“Khajiit thinks so,” Mana frowned.

Alaya looked the Khajiit over in concern, but ultimately shook her head and decided to think on what had happened later. "I can wait for you to organize your thoughts. Come, Mana, let’s go back to Whiterun.”

"We just killed a _dragon_ ," Mana deadpanned.

The roof of the tower became crowded as they were joined by the surviving guards, who crowded around them and the bones.

 

* * *

 

 

A lump rose in Alaya's throat as they stood outside the mead hall of Jorrvaskr, "I'm having second thoughts, Mana. They are all Nordic warriors, what would they want with a small Breton such as me? I really don't wish to be the laughingstock of the Companions."

"They are warriors. If you are a coward, then it is best that you do not enter," Mana said, though she was distracted. Her ears were still ringing.

Alaya bristled slightly, "I am no coward, Mana, you should know."

She pushed open the door with her friend at her heel, and was immediately overcome by a gust of hot air, smelling definitively of mixed alcohol, wood smoke, and sweat, accompanied by the sweet tang of steel. There was also a bit of a musty scent permeating the room, probably because of the pelts adorning the wall. The first sight in front of them was a brawl, every other man and woman in the general vicinity cheering and goading them on.

For a moment, Alaya considered turning back and coming another time, but she knew that may come off as cowardly.

Mana followed closely behind her, looking both out of place and right at home in the mead hall.

 

* * *

 

 

"We have a new face here, don't we now?" said a dark-haired young man in a form of heavy armor that Alaya did not recognize. It took longer than it should have for her to realize she was being addressed, and once she finally did, he was chuckling at her. Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. "Lass," he addressed her through his chuckles, "come over with your friend and join me."

When Alaya hesitated, Mana nudged her forward until they were standing in front of the two men. The older of the two watched them with keen eyes and the younger with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

"What is it that you need?" the younger asked.

Alaya rubbed the back of her neck nervously. "Well... I..." She cast a helpless glance at Mana, and then continued, "We had the intention of joining the Companions."

 

* * *

 

 

As soon as the pair was settled down in their fur beds, Alaya rolled over and faced the Khajiit, "Mana, you awake still?"

"Yes," Mana said softly. Her throat was wrecked, and she croaked a little.

"What was that man's name, the man that led us to our room?"

“Farkas.”

"I think I'm in love," a giddy grin met her lips, "He's so... I don't know what the word is, really, for what I'm feeling. It's nice, though. He just seems so strong, and I don't know... gruff isn't the right word."

"Absent minded?" Mana tried to grin.

"Well, a little, but it's _charming_ , I think."

Mana gave a snort and curled up tighter in her own cot, "Pursue him. In this line of work, you never know which day is your last."

"We're still whelps, though. I doubt he'd consider me,” her face grew forlorn, "Let's not mention the fact that I'm tiny compared to him. He probably hardly noticed me, and thought he was just ushering you to the whelps' quarters."

"You are very concerned with your appearance, yes?"

"Well, not my appearance, no," she smoothed her strawberry blond hair a little. "I think I'm pretty, but I'm just very small, and I have a small presence if you aren't magically inclined."

"No, the ... 'energy' one gives off," Mana looked frustrated, "Mana is unsure how to phrase it in this tongue."

"Describe what you mean a bit more, then." Across the room, another one of the initiates hissed at them to be quiet and Alaya dropped her voice to a softer whisper, "I'm willing to try to figure out a better word if you explain a bit more."

"Your presence … personality?" Mana was even more frustrated now, "If you worry too much what he'll think you'll only be afraid. You cannot read minds, yes?"

"Oh, I think I know what you're talking about, but I don't know the word for it myself. No, I can't read minds. I'm mostly afraid he won't like me for anything but my rank in the Companions, but he seems honorable enough..." Alaya sighed.

“From what the old man said, rank doesn't matter as much as you may think," Mana mused, "A good premise. If you fight well, then that is all you need."

"Thank you for the reassurance, Mana,” she smiled softly. "They're probably going to put us work tomorrow, so we ought to rest.”

Mana gave a hum of reply, already drifting off.

She dreamed of fire and black wings.

 

**[End of Act I]**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mana will switch between first and third person when speaking because she's traveled for up to ten years before coming to Skyrim, so she can get by in conversations in a number of different languages. So while she does have difficulty with tenses and pronouns like many Khajiits, she's slightly more practiced. *thumbs up*
> 
> Find sketches and art at -- http://diowarwahl.tumblr.com/tagged/hunger!verse


	2. Act II: Into Darkness, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date: year 4E 202, Sun's Dawn (Febuary).
> 
> The Civil War resumed after the death of the World-Eater. Knowledge of the whereabouts of the Last Dragonborn is uncertain. 
> 
> Ulfric Stormcloak marches on Whiterun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a timeskip to after Mana kills Alduin. I'm going to be covering THAT story in the 'first' story in the series: Broken Throne.
> 
> ((Yo, if you notice the difference between the pictures in this chapter from the last that's because Unicorn is now colouring my linearts to lessen the workload on me. I'm not really an artist - I draw as a hobby. The idea of doing all the pictures was a daunting one so in order to keep them coming she's going to do that, which I am thankful for. Love you babe. ))

Mana listened intently to Jarl Balgruuf’s speech as he rallied the spirits of the soldiers. Personally, she felt an empty, dull hole in her sternum. This whole war exhausted her, the petty squabbles between the Imperials and Stormcloaks frustrating.

Alduin's blood was still fresh on her hands and already she had picked up another sword. She was an Imperial asset now, because Nirn was her home, and she'd been fighting for it since she stepped foot in Skyrim. They had the best hope of keeping the other races from becoming enslaved by the Aldmeri Dominion. She backed them, but her heart wasn't in the fight, and she doubted it ever would be.

Mana adjusted the helm over her face. For her fight against the rebels, she'd put her Blades armor into storage, not willing to take up the mantle of 'Dragonborn' again. She was just another soldier in this fight, not a hero. The helmet hid her face, slits in the metal allowing her to see and breathe. Even with her hearing muffled by the leather interior, she could hear through slits in the metal as the Stormcloaks approached the city, flaming rocks colliding heavily with the walls. The fire was dull compared to a dragon's.

Her orders were to hold the interior of the city. While the soldiers streamed through the streets, she waited on the steps to the palace, silent.

 

* * *

 

 

It had taken nearly two days for the entire procession of Stormcloak forces to travel from Windhelm to Whiterun, and by the time they arrived, many of them were weary, including Alaya.

She was to be on the front lines, and for what she understood, this was going to be a foolish fight. Whiterun was not nearly as impenetrable as Markarth, which Alaya had discovered Jarl Ulfric had already taken as a general to the Imperial army, but they were not the Madmen of the Reach – these were trained Imperial soldiers, the best of all in Skyrim. She wished to be anywhere but there, but her honor held her steady.

Someone made the cry to advance, and all of the Stormcloak men present charged. With a feeling of deep fear, she began her advance as well.

Alaya was not to engage in combat unless completely necessary. She was a healer, not a warrior, and from the moment of her initiation, Jarl Ulfric made this completely clear. The fight passed in a hurried manner; not frightening except in the behavior of the allied forces. An inhuman growl passed her lips, and that was more frightening than the combat itself. She still was unused to the Circle's Blood. She hated it, though; absolutely loathed the thought of that horrible, unclean blood in her veins. She wanted it _out_.

Once, while Mana was on her long absence from the Companions, the religious woman was found in her chambers in Jorrvaskr weeping, soaked with blood. It was then that Farkas took it on himself to ensure her safety while she was on the premises. He sat with her at night, and when her beast blood took her by surprise, he would hold her down until she snapped out of it, then sit there, unknowing of what to do as she wept, muttering prayers to Stendarr.

The Stormcloaks kept fighting; kept destroying things. Alaya was at their heels, ready to patch a wound or mend a man closing in on his death. Once the group reached the base of the bastion’s steps, they were met with a lone warrior, taller than many men, sporting a long tail, idly swishing. Alaya recognized that tail anywhere. She was well acquainted with its owner, dressed from the tips of her ears to the base of her padded feet in Imperial heavy armor – Mana.

 _So that’s where she’s been,_ Alaya thought, a rumble in her chest. The helm adorning her own head covered not nearly as much as Mana's did – the moment she locked eyes with the feline's gleaming sight, she knew her friend recognized her.

 

* * *

 

 

Mana drew her sword as the Stormcloaks approached. They would not reach the palace, not while she was still breathing. And she was fairly certain that she would be the one leaving this encounter. She scanned their formation, assessing their positions and weapons. To the back was a lone healer, and under the helmet she saw the eyes of someone familiar. Because she doesn't forget someone's eyes, and they belonged to someone she hadn't talked to in months.

Mana’s grip tightened. For a moment she was confused: a Breton fighting for the Nord rebels? Why would Ulfric even agree to let her...? Ah, she was a healer, and they likely had a lack of healers and magicians, due to most Nord's dislike for magic. The Paladin would be an important tool to them. Guilt churned in her stomach, but she kept her blade poised and shield raised. And by whatever gods were listening to her, she hoped Alaya wouldn't make Mana kill her.

Mana's senses were soon filled with blood and gore, and Alaya's bright blue eyes were fixed points. They were neither uncertain nor afraid, and to be honest, it chilled Mana a little. The Stormcloaks had killed Imperial soldiers and in turn she killed them, ripping through them without a thought, as though they were made from cloth instead of flesh.

It was futile, Alaya soon realized, trying to keep the men at her heel alive, or at least on their feet, fighting. Not long after she saw Mana, the rest of the men were overtaken, until no one was left but them, the air between them charged as a lightning cloak.

Alaya said not a word. She was not about to step down, else be called a traitor or a coward. She was neither of these.

Mana wasn't about to say anything either. For all she knew these people had been Alaya's friends, and for the most part Mana didn't hate the Stormcloaks. Many were just fighting for their homes, and she would be a hypocrite for belittling them for it.

Alaya had made her choice, and Mana had made hers. She raised her blood-stained sword again.

A look of fear crossed Alaya's face, but she lifted her shield – the shield of Ysgramor – up to block Mana's first strike. She pulled her mace from her belt, screaming a battle cry. It was not her normal yell – one of near delight and revelry in a combat well matched in her favor – it was one of mourning, one of regret and final hope. She held her friend's blade on her shield for a long moment, expecting Mana to hiss something to her in the heat of it.

Mana said nothing, yellow eyes burning with unmasked pain and fury, before twisting the blade off the shield and slashing towards the healer's torso. For the respect of their friendship, she didn't aim for the neck.

The blow caught Alaya's armor hard, staggering her off balance. She wasn't exactly trying. To an onlooker, it was the healer with no combat skills whatsoever about to be slaughtered, her opponent playing with her before her demise. She knew, though, that Mana would know she was holding back. She stared into her Khajiit friend's eyes pleadingly, face haggard and worn. The two months apart from each other hadn't aged only Mana. There were faint lines between her brows from sheer use.

Mana, bile rising in her throat, lashed out with her shield, bashing against the smaller Breton's body. Without hesitating she kicked the healer’s legs out from under her. Mana raised her sword to deliver the final blow, to end her life, but ... froze.

A small shriek escaped Alaya as she hit the ground. She flinched, lifting one arm so she might not see her own death ... but nothing came. The silence rung in her ears – why wouldn't Mana do it? A brief prayer to Talos and Stendarr left her, under her breath in a ragged whisper. She wanted to return to Farkas' care, where this nagging, tingling feeling at the back of her mind was less worrying. A tug in her stomach indicated her fear might get the best of her.

"Mana, get back, please!" she begged, "Imprison me, knock me out – do anything but kill me!"

Shivers went town the Khajiit's spine. This wasn't anything at all like...

Hissing in anger, she swore under her breath in Ta'agra, lowering her blade. She was begging. She couldn't handle the begging, not this time. All her strength had been sapped, and there was no way she could kill another loved one. Not again. Not when she could stop it.

Instead, she raised her shield, and with a clean blow knocked the other woman unconscious, just as she asked. She could take her back to Breezehome, at least for a little while, until she could smuggle her out of the city.

Mana idly wondered if the gods were with or against her.

 

* * *

 

 

Though Alaya was obviously out cold, occasionally in her unconsciousness she would twitch, or growl, or something else completely unlike her. There was something else different, something about her scent that was hard to place.

Hours passed, plodding on and on. Though Alaya was not sleeping, nightmares still plagued the darkness behind her eyes. And once she woke, she nearly panicked again at the sight of an unchanged Mana. She leaped from the bed, backing herself into a corner, "Mana! Mana, I don't wish to hurt you, _please._ Get away!"

Mana lifted the helm off her head, placing down on the bedside table, never letting her gaze leave the scared Breton. It puzzled her that Alaya thought that she could hurt Mana (presumably fatal, as she wouldn't be so worried about minor wounds), and that she wasn't _angry._

Though it was true Mana had, in a way, saved her life, they had also met in battle after not seeing each other for months. The gap between them was wholly evident to Mana, who'd been through more than she could care to recount in the last few months, but it was obvious that Alaya still thought and worried about her.

The battle had only ended a few hours ago, and the guards were still going through the city looking for bodies. Most of the civilians had been holed up in the Dragonsreach dungeons, out of the line of fire, and would be returning to their homes when dawn broke. Many would need accommodations until their homes could be repaired, but all in all the battle went better than expected.

"Sit down," Mana spoke gruffly.

Alaya, feeling that she was at the Khajiit’s mercy, obeyed, "Please, a lot of things have happened and I may have no time to explain myself. So please, _stay back_ , I'm warning you."

“Mana does not want you to explain yourself," Mana growled, "You will sit there and stop threatening me, unless you wish to be tied down."

Alaya's eyes were forlorn, “If that will help, then yes. Please … I don't want to hurt anyone. It happens when I'm scared."

"Khajiit has no idea what you are talking about, but calm yourself. You are not leaving this house until I say so."

Tears wetted Alaya’s eyes, "I am trying my best, Mana, really."

Mana was starting to get annoyed again, because she thought this was just ridiculous, "In the name of the moons woman, _what_ are you talking about?!"

"The Inner Circle... I became a member of the Inner Circle after you left and..." she broke off, taking ragged breaths, "They ... they're servants of the Daedric Prince, Hircine! I never ... I never wanted any part in it, I wanted to back down! I wanted to go away, but Aela ... she's a crazed zealot!"

"Hircine..." Mana sorted through what she knew about that god, and what he represented in other cultures, "They made you a werebeast?"

She nodded, trembling, "Part of the initiation ceremony was slaughter. We went deep into the wood, where a keep of werewolf hunters sat, and killed every man in the keep. I wanted no part – Aela called me a coward."

Mana frowned, "You cannot control yourself?"

Alaya shook her head solemnly, "Farkas tells me it’s normal for the first couple moons. I wish I could believe him more than I do."

"It was a question," Mana amended, "Khajiit doesn't know very much about the beast-blood, but I know it can be controlled."

" _How?_ Tell me! I must know!" Alaya fought back the excitement coursing through her body.

"Mana has a … friend, that knows much about this," she shifted. Knowing Alaya, she wouldn't be very happy about this. “I could bring you to him – he may be willing to help you.”

“Of course,” Alaya nodded eagerly, “But who is he?”

Mana grimaced, "You wouldn't have heard of him, he tries to remain _underground_. But he knows more about this than we do, and maybe more than the Companions."

"Stop beating around the bush, Mana."

Mana sighed, "His name is Percy, and he is an assassin of the Dark Brotherhood ... maybe their leader now. Mana is unsure."

Alaya made a noise of discomfort, "Out of the frying pan and into the fire, friend. I do not see this going well."

Mana shook her head, "He will not hurt us. He is just ... eccentric, and a pain in the behind. Harmless if you do not threaten him."

"What if I ... _become_ a threat over the course of our discussion?"

"You cannot hurt him, and he will know if you cannot control yourself," Mana almost smiled. "Your curse may threaten lesser men, but not us."

A weak smile forced its way onto Alaya's face, "Thank you, Mana, for your endless kindness. May the gods bless the land you walk."

This time, Mana let loose a snort of amusement, "Mana is pretty sure the only _blessing_ I possess is one of endless bloodshed." She stood and made her way out of the room, "Stay here, and if you feel like you will change, let me know. We will leave when we can."

"No, it will not come, for Stendarr's blessings, if I remain as calm as I am."

"...Right," Mana closed the door behind her. She headed down the stairs, keen on finding out what Lydia had made to eat.

 

* * *

 

 

A week later, after the city had been mostly brought to order, Mana and Alaya made their way out of the city, the Breton wearing robes that hid her face. Now they were on their way to Dawnstar, riding at a steady pace.

Alaya had never felt so primal in all her life.

Passing by the wildlife in their raw states was like walking through a banquet hall. Just smelling them on the wind gave her a twinge in her belly. At the back of her mind she wondered if Mana had always had a sense of smell so keen. Alaya thankfully was able to focus her attention by gnawing on a piece of cured venison most of the day, but as they neared Dawnstar, her stores ran out. Idly, she chewed on her lip, "How much longer, Mana?"

"Not long. We will pass through the town – their sanctuary is on the northern shore," Mana assured. "Only, when we arrive, do not say anything. Mana will do the speaking."

"As you say," she said apprehensively.

"Mana knows Percy, but not his associates. I do not think they will take well to someone preaching religion at them," Mana looked at the other slyly.

Alaya let out a disgruntled snort.

"You don't have to like them, but don't antagonize them," Mana concluded.

"Can we just... not talk to anyone but Percy?"

"Yes, but I don't think he'll want to leave the sanctuary with an unknown so close by. Just in case, yes?"

"I suppose, so long as there is no bloodshed."

"I doubt there will be," Mana snorted.

 

* * *

 

 

It was getting dark by the time they approached Dawnstar, and they did not stop to rest there. Instead they made their way north and east up the coast, past the town to an outcropping of rock. There was nothing in sight, yet Mana dismounted. Alaya remained in her saddle, and the horse whickered and blew nervously through its nose, puffing steam into the night. Alaya pulled her shawl closer on her shoulders.

"Wait here," Mana heeded, before stepping closer to the wall of rock. As she got closer, a door emblazoned with a skull came into view. Stepping closer, she came face to face with the door's empty sockets, and spoke quickly under her breath.

Message delivered, she returned to Alaya and the horses. "You should dismount," Mana told her. Alaya slid down off of the massive draft horse, and trotted up to her friend.

It was only a few minutes that they had to wait. Mana knew that they were likely discussing what to do with them (let them in or chase them away?) but was confident that Percy would convince them to trust her. After all, the assassin did owe her a favor – a big favor. In the meantime she kept her silence. Not many knew that the Brotherhood had survived, and it was best it stayed that way. Really, assassins and sell-swords had a lot in common, the differences in methods and exposure.

The familiar mix of blood and honey hit her from downwind, and a smile curled her lip. He knew she was twitchy, and gave her warning. He was too good to be exposed unless he wished it. Sure enough, she turned and found him standing behind them, cheerful grin in place and dark eyes shining.

Percy looked younger than his actual age, and carried an aura of playfulness around him. He was wearing an embroidered, dark red tunic with a leather vest, pants and boots, along with a long cloak that looked like it was lined with fur. His blood red hair was pulled up into a ponytail and overall he was a splash of color on the bleak landscape. If she didn't know him, she wouldn't have been able to guess that he could disappear so thoroughly.

Something about this man seemed very wrong, and on a normal day, Alaya would probably have attacked him upon discovering his identity as a Dark Brotherhood agent. She felt the tell-tale twinge in her gut, and averted her gaze, holding her growls in her teeth.

"Mana! What a surprise," Percy chirped in greeting. "I wasn't expecting you to visit little ol' me so soon. Business or pleasure?"

"Business," Mana said, though a little tense. She could see Alaya trying to control herself.

"Aw, and here I thought you actually _liked_ me.”

"You touch either one of us and Mana will disembowel you," the Khajiit rumbled in reply. Instead of being offended, he just laughed like death threats were an everyday occurrence. To be fair, it probably was to him. The Khajiit rolled her eyes, the tension gone. "This is Alaya Dawnbreaker, and she has a bit of a ... problem."

Percy nodded, and smiled at them intently. "Is she a friend of yours?" he turned to look over the other Breton, the grin never leaving his face, "Well, my dear lady, we will most likely be able to help you in one way or another. If not, we may be able to point you in the right direction."

Alaya trembled violently, which drew their attention immediately. Tears of rage began to stream down her cheeks. She hunkered down, nervous and anticipating, a faint growl escaping past her teeth. Mana looked over her in concern.

For a moment, Percy actually looked speechless, and then raised an eyebrow at Mana, "I'm guessing that this has quite the story?"

Mana gave a brief nod, "You can smell it, yes? She cannot control herself."

"I see," Percy's smile never wavered, "Then you best come inside."

Winking at the two of them, Percy strode back to the black door, waving them inside as the stone shifted open. The inside of the sanctuary was dim, but not overly dark and the cold receded the deeper they got. Mana kept close to Alaya, her armor-clad hand on the girl's shoulder, putting herself between the twitchy werewolf and any initiates that got a little too close. Fortunately they seemed to see that their leader did not want to be approached and stayed within the shadows.

Percy led them deep into the complex, past bedrooms, training rooms, what looked like a torture chamber, and even a garden. They stopped in a room was obviously Percy's quarters. The assassin motioned to the table and chairs in the middle of the room as he shed his outer cloak and tossed it over the bed. While Mana seated herself and the paladin, Percy rummaged around in the cupboards until returning with a bottle of wine and three golden goblets.

Alaya felt extremely claustrophobic. As soon as they were settled, she curled in on herself, dangerously close to a transformation. Farkas had told her it hurt a lot until you got used to it, but he had also told her it hurt more to restrain it. And she had been restraining it for days on end. Her vision grew blurry, patchy, grey, even.

"Would you like some?" he offered Alaya as he sat down in a chair opposite them, sprawling comfortably in it like there wasn't a feral wolf in the room.

Alaya attempted to speak, but only a muffled growl came out. Her skin, she noticed with a dull horror, felt as if it had been set on fire. It was the best she could do to refrain from howling in agony as her mouth tasted sour, longing for blood to sate this primal appetite.

Percy gave a little sigh, propping his head up with one arm, elbow resting on the arm of the chair. "Mana, if you would leave the room...?"

The Khajiit did not look happy at the prospect, but rose anyway. "Make sure she does not hurt herself," she growled.

"Of course," Percy smiled over the rim of his glass, waving her out, "And don't let anyone in, I've lost enough recruits this month. They never seem to learn, do they?"

As soon as the Khajiit was gone, Percy rose from his seat and approached a dresser. With what seemed like little effort he pushed it up to the door. "It's best if you get the tension out first," he explained, "You _can_ control yourself, but suppressing yourself like this is dangerous."

As he approached her, she scrabbled back. Fur protruded from her skin, and then overtook her. In not a minute, the beast was free, staring down Percy, a hunger in its eyes. It was not Alaya, nowhere close, and yet she could feel every second of it. She longed for his blood but it was not her longing. She heard a cacophony in her ears she was certain wasn't there. The beast flexed its claws, analyzing the one hot blooded creature in the room with a dangerous lust.

Percy's grin took a savage edge, "Don't worry my dear, you can't hurt me – not permanently, at least."

And just as she changed, he matched the transformation. His body grew in size and dark, almost black fur covered him. Instead of the patchy pelt of the female, his was thick and glossy, and his glowing red eyes retaining the amused glint from his other form.

She lunged at him immediately, howling as her claws embedded into his fur, sunk deeper into his skin and her jaws honed a savage bite at his neck. He didn't push her away, instead digging his claws into the fur of her scruff, holding her in place. "Don't fight it, dear. It will only hurt more," Percy's voice was distorted by the transformation, but still clear. Her teeth sunk into his throat, and he let out a chuckle around the gurgle of his own blood.

A small series of grunts, filled with ecstasy, left the young feral wolf. She ripped and tore at him, fought him and gorged herself on his blood until her lupine form could have no more. It hung, mystified by the fact that he was still alive and holding her scruff. Slowly, her human form met her again, and she was happy she could not see the carnage she had left yet, as her vision was still fading in and out. Unsteadily, her head rolled slightly around on her shoulders.

Now that her transformation had faded, Percy dragged her over to the bed and laid her down on it, stepping away as the flesh of his throat melded itself together. When the healing stopped he also slipped into his human form. It was only a moment later that he went over to the door and dragged the dresser away, letting the disgruntled Khajiit back inside.

Alaya saw Mana and smiled wearily, "This has been a trying week, friend."

Mana nearly smiled at the parroting of words, "Yes, it has."

"So!" Percy interrupted, clapping his hands together, "What are we going to do about you?" Mana shot him a scathing glare when the corners of his mouth slid even further upwards.

"No."

"Oh, come on, I didn't even say anything!" Percy said in mock outrage.

"You were thinking it."

Alaya frowned, "I ... do not know what to do with myself. I cannot live being so tainted by such unclean blood."

"Unclean blood, huh?" Percy examined the bloodstains on his shirt, "One of those religious folks?"

"She is a ... Paladin, I believe is the term?" Mana nodded to herself, "Not a Vigilant, though."

"THOSE guys are buckets of crazy, and that's coming from ME," he laughed. "Well, whatever floats your boat. I don't think _unclean_ is the word I would use, but it's true I'm not overly fond of the Daedra."

"What do we do?" Alaya tried to push herself up, but her body was exhausted.

"Well, you got a few options," Percy retrieved his wine and took a sip straight from the bottle, now that it was apparent the others didn't want any. "You can learn to control your inner beast, or you become a hermit for the rest of your life. Mind you, if you can't control yourself your life might be a bit short, because you'll lose your mind completely after a few years and become a mindless animal, slaughtering senselessly until someone puts you out of your misery." He smiled, "Or we can kill you outright."

Mana shot him another glare, and he raised a hand in surrender.

Alaya became distraught, "There's no _ridding_ myself of the beast?"

"Hmm~," he looked off into what seemed to be the distance, "I have no idea if that's possible. Though, to be honest I've never really pursued the idea, because I _like_ being a werewolf. The idea of hunting forever in the afterlife might be a bit daunting, but not totally unpleasant." Percy gave a bark of laughter at something, "I wonder who has dibs on me first...?"

"Focus," Mana deadpanned.

"Right. Well, I've got fuck all in the way of _curing_ you, but if I WERE trying to cure myself, I'd go after Hircine himself, y'know? Normally I would think it was suicide, but I'm sure you two'd actually have a chance, actually." He looked over at Mana pointedly, "How many Daedra have you met, Mana?"

"There is a thing I think I heard about when Farkas was talking to the Harbinger. About there being some ritual, though I’d rather not resort to that – who knows what foul deeds we would have to do to complete it,” Alaya scowled.

"A Companion, eh?" Percy smirked, "And here I thought you were some priest. But you've got blood on your hands too?"

"Only the blood of those who have harmed another; hardly bad blood to have on one's hands if you ask me," she snapped. His personality was beginning to grate on her.

"Oh~, you're a fiery one! All righteous anger," the grin only grew wider, "A bit hypocritical, but nobody's perfect."

"Percy," the Khajiit warrior hissed, "I was not joking about disemboweling you."

"Believe me," Percy looked over at her with a bit of a leer, "I _know._ " And to ruin any chance of being serious, he wiggled his eyebrows at her.

Mana promptly pulled a dagger from somewhere and lodged it between two of his ribs.

Alaya startled. So it was just wishful thinking to believe she had not truly torn out his throat.

Instead of being angry, he just continued to laugh and pulled the knife out of his side with a wet sound, and started twirling it between his fingers. "I swear you have more hidden knives than I do!" he chuckled, "You've been holding out on me!"

Alaya was rendered speechless. Mana just continued to glare at him.

"Will you help her or not?" Mana growled impatiently. Her tail lashed back and forth in agitation.

"Weeelllll," Percy leaned his weight on one leg; "I suppose I could teach you a few tricks in working with your inner beast and all. It might take some time and effort on your part, and I can’t guarantee success. I’ve never had these sorts of problems.”

Mana sighed and massaged her brow with one hand, "Very well."

They both looked over at Alaya, who was staring at them from the bed. Percy grinned at her, "So, any questions?"

She shook her head, wearing a minor look of disgust.

"What's the matter, sugar? Having second thoughts?"

If Alaya had more strength, she would have slapped him for that. He was not on the right terms with her to be using pet names. Instead, she sat and seethed, trying her damnedest to refrain from having another episode.

"Huh," Percy looked over at Mana, "Did I break her?"

Mana rolled her eyes, "Shut up."

“Do not act _familiar_ with me, Daedric scum,” Alaya spat.

"Pretty ballsy for someone in the middle of a building full of assassins," Percy's smile became cold, but it looked more mocking than threatening. His eyes were still full of amusement. "You should be glad that no one else can hear you, _girl_ , because I can assure you, they are not so kind."

Stepping between the two, Mana growled at the both of them. **"That is enough."** Her voice had a powerful edge to it.

In response, the assassin gave the Khajiit a heated glance before the seriousness fell away from him as easily as water. He turned his back to them and finished the bottle of wine that had been half-full when he'd first gotten it.

Alaya obviously still wanted to chew him out more, but she stopped as Mana shook her head at her. "When can she start?" Mana asked, tone clipped.

"We can start tomorrow, if you will. Though I doubt I'll have much to pass on, as your friend here is just lined up for failure. It's a wonder that she's sustained her conscious mind this long already."

She narrowed her eyes, "It is better than nothing, yes?"

"Oh, definitely, but don't hope too hard.”

Mana gave a grunt of understanding and helped Alaya to her feet, "We'll meet you by Nightcaller Temple at dawn."

Percy just waved a hand dismissively, like he understood that keeping them in the sanctuary was a BAD idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah sometimes the perspective jumps around, but again, this is literally a transcript of a roleplay. I can't stress that enough. So even though I've edited it, it's still two separate people writing it. Also, while we had a vague idea of where the hell we were going with our plot, many things come up as we're writing it. The editing is mostly contextual, and actually pretty minimal. We're not all that concerned with the plot being perfect. Having said that, as we are currently in the middle of writing Act V (as I write this note), I can safely say that I'm happy with where its going to end. The middle of the story is mostly banter between Alaya and Percy lol. No really, it gets WORSE.
> 
> And about the end of the Companions quest: we discussed that in length, and thought that it would be boring to follow the quest. Which is why 'not following canon' is on the summery.


End file.
